Mom was a COPD patient and she was not keeping well, but we never thought we would lose her. She usually felt a little deterioration in winters.
Suddenly, one day she fell due to sudden dizziness, and that marked the beginning of her suffering moving to another dimension. For 10 days, she was at home under family care.
Me and my elder sister were not willing to admit her to the hospital because, subconsciously, we knew that if she got admitted, her health would deteriorate more.
But once we noticed blood in her urine channel, and she complained of being unable to pass urine, we had no choice. We called her doctor under whose treatment she was undergoing, but he denied admitting her to his hospital.
Our family doctor, who would always come to visit Mom whenever she was admitted before, also denied visiting, saying he was now too old and no longer visited hospitals.
Something did not seem right.
These eyes witnessed her suffering and crying in pain. Her hands were swollen like balloons, including her palms. Water was oozing out from her hands, and her skin looked stretched and fragile.
Her hands were restrained because there was a risk of her pulling out the ventilator pipe, which could have led to immediate loss of life. Her legs were restrained due to blood circulation issues. Her body started developing sores, and my teary eyes could do nothing but feel helpless.
Amidst all this, she was worried about me—because I was single, and she always thought of me as a kid. Even when she was not fully conscious, she was concerned about hospital expenses.
In the previous hospital admissions of my mom and dad, my sisters were the ones dealing with the doctors. They were more of the face to it.
But this time, for the first time, it was completely me.
One night, I was called at midnight by the doctors. They said they needed to put a central line (cannula) in her throat because her hands were swollen, had clots, and they couldn’t locate a vein. This central line goes directly into a major vein near the heart. I was shaken.
Three days later, she suffered a heart attack. The doctors managed to revive her, but she was then put on a ventilator.
Her suffering didn’t end there.
There is a medical protocol that says a person cannot be on a ventilator for more than a week. After that, they usually do a tracheostomy, where a hole is made in the throat so the person can breathe through it. After this, they can’t speak anymore.
It was a new term for us. We consulted many doctors—we didn’t want to go for it, but eventually, we had no choice.
In the meantime, during all those 28 days in the hospital, the doctors seemed reluctant and distant about her case. It felt like they were not taking her condition seriously. The doctor had a clear belief that she wouldn’t survive, but he did not communicate this to us openly until much later.
Ironically, he was the one who knew her case history the best. He was considered one of the top doctors in town, and her treatment was happening in one of the best hospitals in the city.
But I didn’t want to give up. I had read about near-death experiences. I wanted to leave no stone unturned.
Finally, on 24th January, her health reached a point where even the bladder, rice tube was not functioning. Her normal urine passage was blocked, and urine had to be drained through a tube inserted in her lower abdomen.
I saw blood coming out of her mouth when she tried to speak, and tears rolled down her eyes. All I could do was stand there, helpless.
She was semi-conscious, but I know my messages reached her. She heard me—and she acknowledged them in her own way.
During this time, I was pressured by many people to sign the consent form—the one that says no further treatment should be given, or that we should ask the doctors to remove the ventilator because of the hospital expenses.
But what would I do with money if I don’t have Mom?
My entire motivation to be and do something in life was through her and for her.
The reason I am something today is because of her.
She played the role of both mother and father for us. After my father’s cerebral attack, she hid all the problems and challenges from him. She never let him see the struggles she was facing.
Her strength, her sacrifices, and her unconditional love are the foundation of whatever I have become.
I refused to sign the consent form. I wanted to wait till the very last moment—until I saw her organs starting to fail one by one. At that point, she was alive in body, but gone in spirit—only her breath was moving. She was living, but it was as if life had already left.
We lost her on the morning of 27th January (Friday) due to septic shock and a heart attack.